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Mar. 12th, 2015
It's true, I'm a wicked liar and nothing gives me more satisfaction than plucking a full moon from behind your ear before you realize that you're a silver dollar short of reality. But you have to believe me when I tell you that it was within a whore house in Sicily, when an old sex worker taught me the secret of immortality. It was simple really and worked as follows - whenever someone masturbates to you for that time that they do so you do not age.
This, she insisted, was why the Good Lord ensured masturbation was a sin. Jealousy played a good part of it, the other was there was no telling what shenanigans a race of ageless primates spending eternity wanking off to each other would get into.
Now it could have been the hash oil she lubed my cock with before going down on me or it could be the voices in my head that speak for people when people are silent, but I really thought she was on to something. Later, curled up in a ball in the backseat of a maniac cab driver who was being chased by his dealer, I contemplated how I could best go about stealing me a few minutes of immortality. By the time I got out of jail the next morning I had the answer. A career in the arts. My only other option was porn and I just don't have the physique to pull it off. Maybe in the 70s, sure, when a potbellied sasquatch could get some love, but in the Clinton 90s... fuggadaboutit.
No, I would have to gussy up in what I called 'Avatar Drag', create a persona worthy of those attentions that would steal me a few precious minutes, seconds even, from impending death. A nimble Jack leaping over the candlesticks of reason and possibility dazzling many a lady (and not a few gentlemen) along the way.
Yet as I greet the mirror in the hangover morning the lines in my face, the fat that melts slower from the chin, the dark bags hanging under the eyes and the receding stubble of my hairline it becomes perfectly clear that somewhere, somehow my plan backfired. That Jack remains as spry as ever, the years of absurd misadventures have not dimmed the stars burning in his gaze nor slowed his steps any towards the next one. While, in the meantime, I can only sit here and rob from his confessions to feed the page as the days meet the body the way the waves meet the mountain.
I'm a wicked liar, it's true and no doubt a long time has passed since anyone stopped the clock with thoughts of me. Still I persist, with grand dreams and clumsy art fueling visions of a brief immortality.
This, she insisted, was why the Good Lord ensured masturbation was a sin. Jealousy played a good part of it, the other was there was no telling what shenanigans a race of ageless primates spending eternity wanking off to each other would get into.
Now it could have been the hash oil she lubed my cock with before going down on me or it could be the voices in my head that speak for people when people are silent, but I really thought she was on to something. Later, curled up in a ball in the backseat of a maniac cab driver who was being chased by his dealer, I contemplated how I could best go about stealing me a few minutes of immortality. By the time I got out of jail the next morning I had the answer. A career in the arts. My only other option was porn and I just don't have the physique to pull it off. Maybe in the 70s, sure, when a potbellied sasquatch could get some love, but in the Clinton 90s... fuggadaboutit.
No, I would have to gussy up in what I called 'Avatar Drag', create a persona worthy of those attentions that would steal me a few precious minutes, seconds even, from impending death. A nimble Jack leaping over the candlesticks of reason and possibility dazzling many a lady (and not a few gentlemen) along the way.
Yet as I greet the mirror in the hangover morning the lines in my face, the fat that melts slower from the chin, the dark bags hanging under the eyes and the receding stubble of my hairline it becomes perfectly clear that somewhere, somehow my plan backfired. That Jack remains as spry as ever, the years of absurd misadventures have not dimmed the stars burning in his gaze nor slowed his steps any towards the next one. While, in the meantime, I can only sit here and rob from his confessions to feed the page as the days meet the body the way the waves meet the mountain.
I'm a wicked liar, it's true and no doubt a long time has passed since anyone stopped the clock with thoughts of me. Still I persist, with grand dreams and clumsy art fueling visions of a brief immortality.
My head's not on straight these last few days. It rarely is after she heads back to Andalusia... ("I am un chien"). Rage fills her absence and in return I fill the roads Racer X style. I bury it down on the page, cast it out with LBRs and 5 mile burns on the Y's stair-climber. It works for a little bit but I still got this tiny Dalek in my skull shouting - "SUBLIMATE!" - while a miniaturized tiger in my balls crouches anxious for the kill. It's alright, weed numbs the sex drive and I'm cool so long as I stay away from lick-her, I mean... wish-key, I mean... drinking.
Cool story bro, I hear some of you spit before rolling your eyes venomously, so let me drop another before working you back into the first one.
I'm sitting with the Princess's gal pal breaking my rule about rolling sans Jamie's but the fuck else am I gonna do in the Yacht when I got no work the next day? I promise myself to only stick to three and since the Princess is buying that's an easy oath to stick to. Except three drinks is exactly enough to shift me from diplomatically quiet to asshole if done under the space of two hours and especially without any Write Clubbers or Drac Packers around to keep me in check.
Meanwhile the Gal Pal is having a moan. Sitrep as follows. Some pretty boy with great abs and zero game in the sack is giving her static about her not letting him move in after three dates with one lame lay in between. Worst of all he keeps dropping passive aggressive hints about how she needs to lose weight or go light on the side of fries with dinner or hit the gym with him. She doesn't know what to do with this cat who sounds like a real class act but she's not really talking to me but rather the Princess and that's fine.
Normally.
But I'm drinking with my head not on straight.
So I jump into a conversation I'm not really invited to and drop my best Rust Cohle impression.
"You mean to tell me with all that pussy you sling you don't know the difference between 'Misogynistic dick' and 'Regular dick' by now?"
"Excuse me?" Gal Pal gasps with blue eyes shock wide as the Princess covers her face in embarrassment.
"I mean I get it," I continue nonplussed, "Misogynistic Dick can come with some awesome times and more O's than Elizabethean poetry but like its sister, Crazy Pussy you gotta pay to play - with your wallet, with your self-esteem, with your future sometimes. If you're not willing to pay that price or that Misogynistic Dick comes up too short, too quick... then the only conversation you need to be having is how this dude's someone else's problem now."
"Are you finished?" Gal Pal huffs.
"I am unless someone's buying me another round."
Gal Pal says she's buying. When the waitress comes by with my Jamie Gal Pal snatches it off the tray before I can take it and splashes it in my face.
"What were you thinking?" Princess asks as I wipe the bourbon from my eyes.
"Come again?" I say.
"What do you think?" Princess repeats back in the real world where I'm dry and haven't said a word in something like the last fifteen minutes. "Should she let him move in or wait for an apology?"
"Fuck him." I say finishing drink #3, leaving it to them whether or not my answer was meant literally or figuratively.
"Fuck him." Chakra Panties tells me the next day while at the Y. She's a lean slice of pound cake who I caught at the gym in this violet bikini with a red chakra emblazoned across the mons pubis. Hence the name. Her answer came when I inquired about her boyfriend, the Tofu Neanderthal.
"Shit, what happened?" I ask hovering over her on the weight bench where I'm giving her a spot that she don't really need.
"I had to kick the asshole out of my apartment." She says pumping an impressive 205 (counting the bar). "He was giving me zero dick along with zero rent. I'm just trying to burn off a little frustration, y'know?"
The tiger in my balls growls, my Swadisthana flares up bright as freshly charged Green Lantern Ring, and the tiny Dalek in my head shrieks - 'Sublimate! Sublimate! Sublimate!'.
"Yeah... I know." And I take 205 pounds of dead steel in my hands, toss it to the side with super human strength, step around the bench upon which she still lies watching me with sweat soaked and open mouthed wonder. I straddle over her. Take her wrists and press them to the arms of the bench. From lips to nape I work the kiss down slow. 14 chakras fire up and our skin goes translucent luminal like in an Alex Grey painting. Around us the Gym Queens and Soccer Moms and Living He-Man dolls form a circle around us holding hands while chanting - "Feel the Burn! Feel the Burn! Feel the Burn!"
And I grin to this watching world I love to strip my psyche bare before and ask how's my confidence now?, mother-fuckers.
"Your turn." Chakra Panties says finishing a solid set of ten of reps.
"I'm good." I tell her unable to meet those narrow hazel eyes staring up at me. "I'm gotta get back home and get some work done."
"Pussy." She laughs playfully.
"Don't be a dick." I wink and make my way to a cold shower surrounded by sweaty old men in a locker room. There, slowly, my head begins to screw back on a little tighter and I remember I'm one more day closer to being back with my Baby.
Cool story bro, I hear some of you spit before rolling your eyes venomously, so let me drop another before working you back into the first one.
I'm sitting with the Princess's gal pal breaking my rule about rolling sans Jamie's but the fuck else am I gonna do in the Yacht when I got no work the next day? I promise myself to only stick to three and since the Princess is buying that's an easy oath to stick to. Except three drinks is exactly enough to shift me from diplomatically quiet to asshole if done under the space of two hours and especially without any Write Clubbers or Drac Packers around to keep me in check.
Meanwhile the Gal Pal is having a moan. Sitrep as follows. Some pretty boy with great abs and zero game in the sack is giving her static about her not letting him move in after three dates with one lame lay in between. Worst of all he keeps dropping passive aggressive hints about how she needs to lose weight or go light on the side of fries with dinner or hit the gym with him. She doesn't know what to do with this cat who sounds like a real class act but she's not really talking to me but rather the Princess and that's fine.
Normally.
But I'm drinking with my head not on straight.
So I jump into a conversation I'm not really invited to and drop my best Rust Cohle impression.
"You mean to tell me with all that pussy you sling you don't know the difference between 'Misogynistic dick' and 'Regular dick' by now?"
"Excuse me?" Gal Pal gasps with blue eyes shock wide as the Princess covers her face in embarrassment.
"I mean I get it," I continue nonplussed, "Misogynistic Dick can come with some awesome times and more O's than Elizabethean poetry but like its sister, Crazy Pussy you gotta pay to play - with your wallet, with your self-esteem, with your future sometimes. If you're not willing to pay that price or that Misogynistic Dick comes up too short, too quick... then the only conversation you need to be having is how this dude's someone else's problem now."
"Are you finished?" Gal Pal huffs.
"I am unless someone's buying me another round."
Gal Pal says she's buying. When the waitress comes by with my Jamie Gal Pal snatches it off the tray before I can take it and splashes it in my face.
"What were you thinking?" Princess asks as I wipe the bourbon from my eyes.
"Come again?" I say.
"What do you think?" Princess repeats back in the real world where I'm dry and haven't said a word in something like the last fifteen minutes. "Should she let him move in or wait for an apology?"
"Fuck him." I say finishing drink #3, leaving it to them whether or not my answer was meant literally or figuratively.
"Fuck him." Chakra Panties tells me the next day while at the Y. She's a lean slice of pound cake who I caught at the gym in this violet bikini with a red chakra emblazoned across the mons pubis. Hence the name. Her answer came when I inquired about her boyfriend, the Tofu Neanderthal.
"Shit, what happened?" I ask hovering over her on the weight bench where I'm giving her a spot that she don't really need.
"I had to kick the asshole out of my apartment." She says pumping an impressive 205 (counting the bar). "He was giving me zero dick along with zero rent. I'm just trying to burn off a little frustration, y'know?"
The tiger in my balls growls, my Swadisthana flares up bright as freshly charged Green Lantern Ring, and the tiny Dalek in my head shrieks - 'Sublimate! Sublimate! Sublimate!'.
"Yeah... I know." And I take 205 pounds of dead steel in my hands, toss it to the side with super human strength, step around the bench upon which she still lies watching me with sweat soaked and open mouthed wonder. I straddle over her. Take her wrists and press them to the arms of the bench. From lips to nape I work the kiss down slow. 14 chakras fire up and our skin goes translucent luminal like in an Alex Grey painting. Around us the Gym Queens and Soccer Moms and Living He-Man dolls form a circle around us holding hands while chanting - "Feel the Burn! Feel the Burn! Feel the Burn!"
And I grin to this watching world I love to strip my psyche bare before and ask how's my confidence now?, mother-fuckers.
"Your turn." Chakra Panties says finishing a solid set of ten of reps.
"I'm good." I tell her unable to meet those narrow hazel eyes staring up at me. "I'm gotta get back home and get some work done."
"Pussy." She laughs playfully.
"Don't be a dick." I wink and make my way to a cold shower surrounded by sweaty old men in a locker room. There, slowly, my head begins to screw back on a little tighter and I remember I'm one more day closer to being back with my Baby.
